Witchcraft : Yami Reborn
by 666TheWitch666
Summary: The sequel to "Witchcraft". Please read that first. I don't want to put crazy spoilers in my story description. So, the story takes place years after Witchcraft. Some favorites are back, and we'll try to piece everyone back together. Rated for future ch.
1. Chapter 1

If you haven't read my story Witchcraft, go read it. This will seem to come out of no-where if you haven't. I prefer to ease my readers into alternate possibilities, not punch them in the face with it.

I would first like it understood that no characters belonging to Anne Rice are actually in this. They're all dead, or referred to vaguely. I don't want to misinterpret or besmirch the characters inadvertently. Read the books. They are very good. Srsly.

* * *

Chapter 1

It began at her funeral.

The funeral home, Lonnigan and Sons, was decked out in true Mayfair fashion. It was her last party, after all. She's been the lost one, the one who came back and defeated the families demons, and now… death had finally taken her hand and gently guided her away. Yami had always thought of her as a grandmother, and legally she was; His mother had been adopted from another branch of the Mayfairs. He lingered in the background, watching those who game to pay their respects to a great, and good, woman. An elegant blonde man in a frock coat knelt on the pre-dieu , and whispered into the dead ear "This didn't have to happen to you, darling. Not ever." Then left, through the uneasy glares of various cousins. Everyone was filing out now, it was almost over. They would bury her in the cemetery now, in the old tomb. Yami didn't need to go there, see that. Yami put his hand on the coffin, and looked at her sadly. "Goodbye."

…

Yami was seventeen. He could be in school, but he didn't have to be. He was close enough to the family legacy as Her adopted grandson to want for nothing all his days. He chose to play games for the most part. His favourites were strategy games. As far as friends went, he didn't meet many people outside the Family, and the Family… well, they usually weren't very comfortable around him. Grandmother was the only on who… Yami swallowed. Her absence hurt.

She's trusted him, told him things, and helped him to understand himself. She told him what the others were seeing, why, even when he was a child, conversations stopped when he entered a room, no one wanted to play his games with him, no one actively tried to talk to him at family parties, or if they did, someone else pulled them away. Yami was powerful, that was common enough in this family. His power was… different, though. He didn't see spirits or the future or into people's minds. Yami's most mundane abilities involved incredible luck when it came to random chance, like drawing a powerful card or guessing lottery numbers, which he did for fun without actually buying a ticket. His potential, however, involved speaking to monsters he could only call demons in his sleep. Each time he closed his eyes, all color drained out of the world, and a purple-black void overtook him. He knew he was searching for something, but not what he was searching for. Sometimes, a voice called to him, but the monsters… Their advice was circular, never to the point, and often veiled in threats. He found that if he slept with a Duel Monsters card in hand, that monster would always appear in his dream.

It wasn't his powers, or lack thereof, that made the Mayfairs cautious of him. He'd had no idea, before that night on his fifteenth birthday. He could still remember the embracing heat and the scent of Jasmine blooms, and the soft smell of his Grandmother's perfume. She'd told him in her earthy voice, so like butterscotch even in her old age, that every human being had two halves to their souls, darkness and light, Yin and Yang. Who we are is affected by our inner turmoil, the constant swirling of our complete soul. He, Yami Mayfair, had only half a soul. It was worse, even, because the half he possessed was the darkness, devoid of light.

It made sense, in a way. Its why he was so stern, so cold, why he had to win at all he did, why he couldn't connect with anyone.

She understood him, because once, she'd let the darkness in her soul take over, and eclipse the light.

He walked the streets of the Garden District alone, enjoying the simple sound of his boots hitting the cracked sidewalk over and over again. The rich families in the area had wasted no time restoring everything after Katrina, and the Garden District itself had fared quite well. The papers said they were on higher ground, which saved them from the flooding. It certainly had nothing to do with the location of the First Street house, and of course the house's importance to the Family was unrelated in its remarkable lack of damage.

Yami stopped suddenly. There was someone else on the path. He looked warily at the pale, white haired stranger, who stared back with undisguised astonishment.

"You're back? Already?" The stranger asked, in a crisp British accent.

"Who are you?" Yami retorted, squaring his shoulders. There was something not right about this individual.

"Ryou Bakura. We knew each other, once. We were friends. We killed you." Bakura frowned, not explaining the plural in reference to himself.

The two of them stood on the sidewalk, just looking at each other. A breeze swayed the old trees that hung low over the street, prompting a chorus of insects. A cloud blew over the moon, leaving them with just the streetlamps. Ryou took a step forward, slowly, a hand held out, as if to bridge the distance between them and lead Yami to a new past, a new future.

"Get back, get away from him!" A woman's shout pierced the tense silence. Both Yami and the stranger turned, to see a woman leaning over a low fence, shouting at the Pale One.

It was one of Yami's Aunts, Matilda Mayfair, a petite woman with thin black hair that clung to her head and neck, and became unruly below her shoulders, whisking in every direction.

"I mean it, you lay one tooth on that boy and you'll wish you'd never crawled out of the hole you sleep in!" Oh, and she had a set of lungs like an elephant.

Yami looked back down the street, but his visitor was gone. He stared in silence, as his Aunt guided him off the street and into her home, a lavish building that, although nothing compared the First Street house, was dramatic in its own way. His aunt was a bit of an eccentric, you almost had to be in this family. She'd once shown him her secret library, behind a door made to look like a book case. She'd done it simply because she could, and it kept her away from the eyes of prying relatives. If there was one person in this family he liked, now that his Grandmother was gone, it was Matilda.

She could move things with her mind, and delighted in doing so. She also wasn't afraid of Yami. Or anything, for that matter.

"Just standing there, staring at it, it could have killed you! Or worse, but its gone now, I hope… What were you thinking?" She sat him down in her living room, forced a mug of hot chocolate into his hands, and lowered herself anxiously into a plush chair balanced on thin, shapely wooden legs. Matilda crossed her arms, and legs, and tapped her foot, waiting for the confused teen to gather his thoughts back together.

"I… I don't know. I felt like I knew him. What was he?" Yami knew quite well he wasn't a 'who".

"I'm not really sure. Not one of the usual Bloodsuckers, the blonde one keeps them out. At least, that's how I figure it. He doesn't feel the same. Its like they're all orange juice, and he's iced tea. Whatever he is, he was some interested in you.

"He said he killed me." Yami mused aloud, watching two marshmallows float around his hot cup without really seeing them.

He looked up at his Aunt, who's lips were pursed in a determined sort of way.

"Well, we'll just have to make sure he doesn't turn out right. Yours is a migrant soul, that's clear enough, and he could be a piece of your past life, its true, and this might have something to do with that… but… lets leave the past in the past, shall we? It doesn't need to destroy the present. You stay inside at night, you hear me? Either here, or at First Street, and always with a Mayfair in the house."

"I will not be treated like a fool, or a child. I can protect myself, and I can choose my own path." Yami said firmly. He'd always had a way of saying things, like every word from his lips was an announcement. People tented not to question him. True to form, his aunt backed down, though she bit the inside of her cheeks to pieces worrying.

…

Outside, Ryou Bakura sat in a tree, watching and listening. This was Yami. Fate had even given him his old title. Darkness. The question now was, should he find the Millennium puzzle and give it to him? Or let him continue to live in blissful ignorance? If he regained the puzzle, the wheels of fate would start turning again, driving them straight off a cliff, no doubt. There was also Yugi to consider. He was still trapped in the puzzle, which meant he was in the Shadow Realm. Right between Hell and Purgatory, or swimming in the river of the dead, or a million other things, depending on how one's culture looks at such things. The point was, he can't have been having a good time these past few years.

Bakura weighed the matter with Ryou's conscience, though really, now, they were the same person. At least, they were as long as the millennium Ring remained with them. If he left it anywhere, slowly the feeling of being torn apart at the seams came over him, and grew unbearably worse until the ring was returned to him. He'd only made that mistake once. Bakura twisted a point of the Ring thoughtfully, even as Yami swirled his cup of Hot Chocolate.

This was going to be a nightmare.

Ryou dropped from the tree, and darted away with preternatural speed.

* * *

Again, this story will be much better if you read the prequel. To all those who followed that story, and found me again- I love you. *srs face* (You feeling creeped out yet?)

So, Yami's alive again. Who's got the body now, bitch? What's Bakura been up to these past few years? Hint : It won't be as easy to get the Puzzle back as you would think. No just asking nicely.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey, welcome to chapter two! Don't mind any style inconsistencies, I varied between awake and alert, and a half stunned torpor during which my fingers continued to type, but I'm not really sure my brain was actually involved. I'm not really sure how it affected the final product.

I introduced Google as a plot element, so you know I must have been tiered. Still, why not, eh?

* * *

Ch 2

Ryou Bakura sighed, leaning back against the marble wall of a tomb. He stretched his hands above his head and arched his back, the tips of his reaching fingers just brushing some forgotten name. He'd swept the tomb dust, and the bones of a displaced skeleton, into the corner. This was his temporary home during the day, he might as well keep it tidy.

Sure, he could stay in hotel rooms or abandoned houses, but it was simply safer this way. There was a chance a hotel door could be opened by an overly obtrusive maid, and who knew when an open house or returning holidaymakers might open the wrong door or window on him. No one in their right mind would disturb an old tomb of a family that no longer existed.

Bakura poked the grinning skull with his toe. Ryou felt guilty about violating the dead, but it couldn't be helped and besides, they'd done just the same thing on a grander scale last time they were one.

"Which leaves us with the same problem. We need to get the puzzle back." Bakura said tersely, continuing a conversation that had been going in circles for some time.

The other individual in the tomb sat on a stone slab meant for displaying bodies, her elbows on her knees, her heels tap-tap-tapping on the cracked marble.

"I'm sorry I left it, I wasn't really thinking clearly on my way out. If I recall, we jumped through my window." The girl said peevishly.

"You know that was an accident, right? I'd only done it once before, and you never want to talk about it…" Ryou glanced up at her, looking guilty.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Can we not do this? Has Marik figured out what city they have it in?"

"You know he hasn't, Charlotte. If he had, I could bloody go there myself and find it with the ring." Bakura shook his head. Marik, his first mistake. He'd wanted to talk to someone, anyone, about what had happened to him, and Marik had been the only one he could face after Yugi's death. That conversation went well; he'd barely gotten one word out before he jumped the Egyptian.

…

"Bakura? What are you doing here? Wait, which one are you, anyway?" Marik asked, confused to all Ra when his old ally simply appeared in his bedroom.

"Both." Bakura replied simply, his eyes holding all the focus and every ounce of the desperation an addict's would

Then Marik was somehow on his back on the floor, his arm on Bakura's neck, trying to push away the open mouth that was coming closer.

"What the hell, Bakura?" He managed to ask, panicked, before he saw the snakelike fangs hinge forward from the roof of his more-or-less friend's mouth. A clear liquid dripped from them onto his face.

He froze, and Bakura shoved his arm out of the way. Then those fangs were in his neck for just a moment, and when they slid out, his lifeblood flowed freely behind them, into Bakura's open mouth.

Marik thrashed wildly, but he couldn't break the grip on his head, holding his neck still. He was starting to feel dizzy, to see spots, and the world kept switching weirdly between color and black and white.

He noticed vaguely that he'd been abandoned, that Bakura wasn't touching him anymore. He lay one the floor, disoriented and confused. The place on his neck was burning, and an irresistible voice in his head said "Drink him"

Then it wasn't really Marik anymore that leaped at Ryou, and bit with simple human teeth, drawing blood that he drank greedily. The twisted, mutilated part of Marik's soul had woken for this, to keep himself alive.

When it was over, Bakura stared at Marik like he had two heads. There was almost fear in the pale one's eyes.

Marik groaned, and the unpleasantness of the change began.

…

"Hey, can we get back to tonight's problem? So we don't have the puzzle, and you've pissed off the talamasca enough that they've pledged to destroy you, so they're obviously either hiding it or hoping to use it as bait, but we did find one of the things we've been looking for. Yami." Charlotte said reasonably. Even after death, she continued to die her hair, and she'd chosen to keep her assortment of piercings. After spending many years with her, and considering her general lack of modesty, Ryou knew the ridiculous extent of them. Her tattoos, however, had faded and disappeared not long after the change. There was one feature he'd added himself, though he hated himself for it. There was a glint of gold when she brushed her fringe out of her face casually.

"Fat lot of good that does, Yugi's still monster food." Barkura countered pensively.

"You don't think that. You're relieved. We didn't expect Yami back for a thousand years, at least." She smiled mischievously, the Millennium eye glinting from her face.

"Go make yourself useful, and find the puzzle's location from the minds of your old friends, won't you? I didn't give it to you so you could pry into _My_ head!" Bakura commanded, almost shouting.

"Well, I would, I've been itching to give this a real try, but soon the sun will rise, and I don't want to get crispy. Kapish? Why did you wait so long to give me this, anyway? I assume you've had it the whole time?" Charlotte touched the golden eye that had once adorned the skull of Maxamillion Pegasus. It was hard to get used to seeing normally only through one eye; her depth perception was crap. Still, it had its uses, too. She'd just watched the making of The Vampire Marik in HD flashback sequence.

"Do try to shut up, I'm starving, I wasted the whole night spying on our "Monster Reborn" friend. He won more duels with that card than any other. Ironic, don't you think? The point, I haven't had any time to hunt properly, and I'm bloody pissed about it." Bakura crossed his arms peevishly.

"I saw a homeless guy sleeping on a bench out there. You could always… you know." Charlotte said suggestively.

"I hate that kind of blood. Its thick and rotten, they taste like death." Bakura couldn't ignore the sudden flare, the sudden _need, _associated with the kill, with fresh blood, however. He was never more like his darker self, never more like the psychotic, sadistic being half of him had been, than when he hunted. The guilt after, that was all from the light.

He stood up, pushing himself forward with an arch of his back, and standing in a fluid motion impossible for a human being. He pushed the thick doors open a crack, slipping out. He could smell the man immediately, not far away. He wasn't sleeping, he was kneeling in front of an old grave with some flowers. Wait, different person. The homeless guy was the other way. Something inside him tugged back toward the drunk sleeping in a graveyard, but he overrode that thought. This other man, this was who he wanted.

He drew closer, as the sky slowly paled. Why was this man here, near the crack of dawn, among the graves? He wasn't old, but he wasn't young, either. Perhaps forty, in his prime. Judging by his clothing he was successful, yet here he was, talking to a headstone.

"I miss you, sweety. Daddy wants you back more and more every day. Mommy's barely holding it together without you, Sandra. It isn't fair, you were just a kid, why did you leave us?" The man was crying. Business suit. Probably visited his daughter every day before hitting the morning rush hour traffic.

"Life isn't fair. That is simply the way it is." Bakura found himself saying, standing a few feet from the man.

The father looked up, tears in his eyes, at a young man alone in a graveyard in the early morning.

"Aint that the truth. The old question, in't it. Why do bad things happen to good people?" The man lay down the flowers, and stood up, towering over the pale young man. He placed a hand on the kid's shoulder in a friendly, fatherly way.

"I don't know what brought you out here, but it got me to thinking. Maybe I won't be coming back here so often. Maybe I need to let go. I think you were here to show me that." The man smiled through his tears.

"No," Bakura plucked the man's hand from his shoulder. "I'm here to kill you."

The shock lasted a second, just the second Bakura needed to get inside the man's defence. No time to play tonight, the sun was rising. His fangs dipped into the man's neck and retracted, leaving Bakura free to gulp and gulp at the flowing warmth, draw the life into himself so he could keep living.

"Wha- get off me, get off, what are you doing… I can't…" The man drooped, his weight falling more and more on Bakura, as his thinking slowed and slowed to unconsciousness. Then his heart was fluttering, tha-thumping as hard as it could to move what blood was left, until it stopped, and only Bakura's pulling kept the blood flowing, until the man was really dead, and the blood started to taste bitter, and there wasn't much left anyway, so Bakura let the man drop to the ground.

In a last gesture, Bakura snapped the man's neck, then laid the flowers across his chest. Rest in peace in a cemetery.

The peace of the moment was cut short by the brightening light, and an itching of the skin and eyes, slowly growing to a burning that sent Bakura running full speed back to the tomb. He got inside and slammed the door shut behind him, a faint vapour rising from his skin. As his chest rose and fell with panic.

Charlotte raised an eyebrow. "You shouldn't smoke. It's a bad habit."

She laughed uproariously.

…

Yami stayed at his Aunt's that night, shuffling through his deck and thinking, about the strange being he'd met. He tried to remember exactly what the other had looked like; pale, wearing a shirt with large horizontal stripes and a dark jacket over it, a jacket that flared at the waist. Simple jeans. Sneakers. It was the red eyes, and the long white hair that stood out in Yami's mind, that and the way the person had just appeared there. He seemed too solid to be a ghost, but then, ghosts could be quite good at looking solid. If it was a ghost, it was a strong one.

Matilda hadn't treated it like a ghost. She'd acted like this was a Vampire. She'd also said it wasn't, in a way.

Yami knew that these things were real; he could feel them, sometimes, and the family's friends at the Talamasca said they were. They generally avoided him, though.

If this thing really had something to do with another past, a forgotten one… it might know what happened to the other half of his soul. More importantly, he might know how to get it back. That in mind, Yami tried to work out ways to get this… Ryou Bakura, that was his name, on Yami's own playing field. Yami had a sudden idea.

He went to the computer in the den. On Google, he looked up "Ryou Bakura". He didn't really expect to get anything, so he was astounded when a number of links showed up, all relating to old Duel Monsters tournaments in Japan, before he was born. Ryou Bakura was listed in the rankings of Battle City, quite high. A finalist, actually. Perhaps Yami could duel him for information? No, that was absurd; who played children's card games to decide something so important? Still…

Yami checked the images associated with the search, and found only a few with any relevance. One was an ID photo, showing the very same individual he'd seen on the street, though the light must have played tricks on him; the one in the picture had somewhat softer, kinder features. Another was a group shot during Battle City, with tags labelling everyone. Ryou was at the edge, looking desperate to fit into the group. There was a blonde, Joey Wheeler, a brunette girl, Tea, a brown haired guy with a strange up-do called Tristan, and in the middle…

Yami stared. It was a short kid, really short, like Little People Big World level short, with giant eyes… eyes that were purple, like Yami's. The biggest thing Yami noticed, however, was the kid, Yugi Mouto's hair. It was Yami's, just a little tamer. He'd never seen another person with hair like his. And this Yugi knew Bakura.

Yami looked up Yugi Mouto. There was way more information on this guy. He was the greatest duellist who ever played the game, and there were pictures of him winning prizes. He always had a weird pendant, a giant gold pyramid.

There was a big news story about his death, too. Throat slashed, culprit never found. Literally cut down in the prime of his duelling career. A lot of pictures of friends crying, a long obituary about friendship, courage, the Heart of the Cards, his many accomplishments… and a plea to whoever took his golden puzzle, to return it to the people who loved him.

Yami looked back at the faces of the mourners. Anger. They weren't just sad, they were furious, especially Joey and Tristan. Yami could read people. He also noticed that the white hair of Bakura was no-where to be seen in any of the funeral shots. Interesting. It was all falling into place; this stranger, he thought that Yami was this Yugi person. He'd probably murdered Yugi, most likely for the puzzle.

The question was; what would Ryou Bakura do about it? Would he kill Yami?

* * *

Wow, the wonders of Google, eh? I wasn't sure if I should write out more detail about Yugi's obituary or not. Ask and you shall receive, I suppose. Fun use of dramatic Irony at the end there. Remember, review, let me know what you think! It keeps me writing.


	3. Chapter 3

Um, ok, fair warning. I was sick and tiered this week. Therefore; This chapter gets gruesome. Like, squeamish or easily offended by violence should look away. You were all warned. WARNED I TELL YOU!" *pant*

BTW, reviews are freaking awesome. They make me update. I'm thinking of re-starting my old habit of personally thanking reviewers in the comments. What to y'all think?

* * *

**Chapter 3 'n stuff!**

Yami's thinking was somewhat muddled over the next few days; his Aunt apologised profusely as he vomited into the toilet. She'd had a flu the week before, but she "swore she was over it". Apparently not over it enough.

"Can't you do something?" He groaned from his place on the sofa, a bucket conveniently beside him.

"Do what? You can't keep the pills down, and I ain't no healer. I had to stick it out for three days, and you'll do the same. Some folks in this family don't get sick, but neither you nor I are one of them. Now, do you want to try a bite of soup?"

Yami's face paled, and disappeared from sight. Matilda Mayfair rubbed his back comfortingly. She'd had a son, once. Lost him and his father in a car crash when the lad was just a babe. She wasn't really the maternal sort, but every now and then, it slipped out.

She shot a furtive look out her window, into the drifting, dreamy night. Better that boy be in here, sick, than out there.

* * *

Speaking of out there…

Lingering in the shadows of the oaks, people who thrived in the night met, to converse.

"Yeah, that's him, easy. How'd you find him?" Charlotte asked Bakura, speaking as if they were next to each other, rather than half a block away.

"Luck. But why are you here? I was hoping you would look into the Motherhouse…" Ryou's eyes flashed on the Eye, guiltily. It shone in the darkness to his vision, reminding him not only of what he'd done to procure it, but also what he'd risked in giving it to Charlotte. If it had rejected her… Well, there was a reason he hadn't used it himself, though he hated himself for it.

"Enough self pity. I'm glad you decided to pop this thing into my head, and I'm not a shrieking loony or soulless doll. Lets get back on track, shall we? I was just on my way to visit my old pals. I'm sure they'll be happy to see me, actually." Charlotte teased, twirling a lock of her short hair around one finger.

Bakura opened his mouth in protest.

"Hey, its not me they hate, remember? Its you for making me. And there was that whole dismembered corpse thing. They figure you're a monster they sheltered wrongly, and that you turned on them. Especially considering Mark…" She saw Ryou's face fall and quickly changed the subject "But me, I'd be like Muhammad returned from his Night Flight, back to the fold to share my wondrous stories. They're curious like that. They guess fairly how we live, but they speak to us without judgement anyway. Besides, I need to be able to trigger the right thoughts. Did you know this thing only works for the stuff you're thinking right now? I can't guess what you thought before I got here, and I can't know everything you know." Charlotte turned her head back toward the house, just as Bakura did. Yami was… not well. It brought back unpleasant memories.

"You didn't change him, did you?" She asked, as Yami dry-heaved.

"No, he just has the flue. Remarkably similar, though, don't you think?" Bakura mused aloud.

"Sort of. I guess the flue is a lot like having every mortal fluid in your body come pouring out of both ends. That really sucked, by the way." Charlotte stuck her tongue out at Bakura.

"That's death for you. At leas_t you_ knew what was happening. Now didn't you have somewhere to be?" Bakura looked at her searchingly, knowing she was probably reading the memories of pain and terror and confusion, shrouded in complete darkness.

"Um, yeah. I'll go do that." She reluctantly left him, drifting off down the lamp lit street, taking to the rooftops when it suited her.

The pale one turned his attention back to his silent vigil. Perhaps later he'd cross to the slums, and creep into some ground-floor window, sliding it open carefully in such a way that the dreamer kept dreaming, then make sure they never woke up. Ryou put a hand to his face, the gesture hiding him from the world, or perhaps from the part of himself that grew excited at the idea, and flexed his fangs in his mouth. Perhaps he was really trying to hide the _world_ from _him_.

* * *

It was after ten when Charlotte strolled across the lawn of Oak Haven. Never mind that her casual strides carried her faster than many runners. She was in no hurry, however, and slowed to a mortal pace as she approached the front door. Huge, unnecessary door. Big gothic looking knockers. Funny, it was usually the monster that lived behind doors like that, and the innocent traveler begging to enter for the night.

She debated walking right in, after all, she had lived here for a time. Instead, she knocked, careful not to damage the fine carvings on the door. It was only polite. She found herself a little nervous. What if they reacted badly? Rejection wasn't something she could easily laugh off. Funny, that she should still care what these people though of her. She could have come in through a window, someone who had known her might have actively helped, but it seemed right to go in this way, as if she belonged, as if she still could. Even among Vamps, her, Ryou, and Marik were freaks. Before the Talamasca, she revelled in being a freak, but really, she'd just wanted to be different. Someone you took notice of in the street. Someone who didn't just fade into the background.

An older woman came to the door, a cosy housecoat tied securely around her. A book dangling from her right hand meant she'd probably been doing some evening reading in the hall, before turning in for the night.

"Isabel, Hi, can I come in?" Charlotte asked, painting on a bright smile, wondering just how much Isabel knew about Charlotte's disappearance. Enough, it seemed, the woman's eyes flashed wide as saucers, then narrowed, resigned.

"Charlotte, dear, its been a long time. I trust you know the rules under our roof?"

"No snacking. Got it." Charlotte tried to laugh off the gravity of the moment, but she couldn't ignore the sudden rise of thirst, inevitable when it was mentioned, and with the warm salty smells coming out of the building in waves. She bit her lip.

"Um, actually, we should make this quick. I have questions, and I need the answers. My… Friend… entrusted you… us… with a certain object years ago. He was under the impression that he could get it back at any time. Now, it seems to have vanished. Any idea what that's about?"

Isabel shook her head back and forth slowly, opening the door wider with some reluctance to allow Charlotte to enter. The woman could feel, with some human part either left over from our distant past, or slowly growing in the minds of the collective human animal, that there was danger here, and darkness. She could taste it when she breathed, though the air carried no scent. She could feel it in the ground, rising like a creeping vine. She could hear it left unsaid, after each breath Charlotte took. Still, constrained by the unquestioning rules of our society, and unwarned by any strong natural psychic talent, the woman bade the outside to come in.

Heads turned from cushioned seats, not all but a fair few. Some started to rise, and thought better of it. No-one called the puzzle to mind. Time to do a little fishing.

Charlotte took a place before the door, on the richly woven rug of warm, comforting tones like red and brown, facing the formerly relaxed assemblage of mediums, pre-cogs, telekinetic and telepathic researchers, and spoke.

"I am Charlotte. I was once one of you. I know some here tonight. I ask that you bring those sleeping, those in other rooms, together here. I have a question, and I wish to ask it of all of you. You will do as I ask." The carpet beneath her feet no longer appeared warm and homely. It looked like blood.

Some looked outraged, others fearful, some curious. No one moved.

"Is there a problem?" She asked petulantly.

Isabel had shrunk back to a corner. An older man stepped forward, making himself the spokesman of the group.

"Charlotte," He began, in the tone one would use if one were trying to reason with someone wielding live ammunition, "Are we here in any danger from you? What is this question you ask, and what will you do if we cannot answer you? Or, if it proves that we decide not to."

"Are you in danger from me? Of course you are, to be quite frank I'm half mad right now with the scent of you all, and you'd better hurry and do as I say before I loose my finely balanced control and start ripping through the place. You can't answer, I leave. If you can, you won't be able to help but tell me everything you know." The golden eye flashed from her face, seeing the carefully restrained fear in every mind. Blood pounded in their throats, across their faces in visible blue lines, tracing down hands and further through slippered ankles, and she could see in her own mind how easy it would be, and once the blood started flowing, then the need would be fed a hundred times over!

Charlotte put a hand over her face, trying to regain control of herself. She was really loosing it, and she needed this information. After… all she could paint of after was red. The smell was EVERYWHERE!

Someone ran up the stairs, shouting. He was doing as she'd asked. Good.

"Charlotte, think about this, if you hurt us, there are those of your kind who would take revenge upon you. Those who still love the Talamasca." The man reasoned.

She looked confused a moment. "My kind?"

Her face cleared, and she actually laughed. "Trust me, _they _are not my kind. I'm a whole new kind of bloodthirsty. I suppose they didn't tell the masses all the details. I've spoken the a couple of the other ones, and I've read a few of their books. They are old, many of them, and there are hundreds to share the need. Let me tell you a little fact about me. Us. We're young, and there are only a very few. That means we need more, a lot more, and we lack a certain self-control they've perfected. There are few of us; It _owns _us. Write that down in your archives."

People were coming down the stairs, a few at a time, some looking sleepy, others anxious, or nervous. One looked terrified, a stunned, blank look on his face. Charlotte probed his mind, and saw a strange memory. Herself, and oddly Marik, tearing bodies apart. Strange, but even the image of blood in someone else's memory was causing her fangs to twitch in her mouth.

Eventually, there was no one else in the upper levels. They stood before her, most old, some young, two children. The hallway was crowded with bodies, and she thanked the open door behind her for providing the clean air she needed to continue rationally.

"I called you together to ask a question. It is simple, but vital."

She fixed her gaze on all of them, the eye peering into their souls, piercing their mental walls.

"Where is the Millennium Puzzle?"

A flash, the image of the puzzle coming to her from three of them, some knowledge without a picture from still more. Faces swam before her mind's eye, others who had said something, others who knew where it might be. Over and over again, a bald black man. Andrew. Just in connection, or does he know? More importantly, an obscure motherhouse in Ireland. With a very deep, complex vault. Bingo.

"I'm sorry, Charlotte, that is information we cannot disclose, and if any among us know the answer she seeks, do not tell her. It is a dark artefact, a key to a realm of shadows, and potentially a key to a prison for the very souls of its victims. Our members who have studied it have often come to unfortunate ends."

Charlotte smiled. "So its in Ireland? And if not, ask Andrew? Thank you all, you've been great. Of course, you could move it before I get there…"

Her mind was rationalising. She already knew what she wanted, had to have, needed, right NOW.

"And who knows if I'd ever find it then, and you tried to lie to me, that simply wasn't smart."

The man swallowed, his Adam's apple rising and falling, a single trickle of sweat falling down his wrinkled skin, past tiny hairs rising in warning on chilling flesh.

"You promised to leave…"

"If you answered me." She smiled, her mind made up, the flip switched. Madness danced in her eyes. If she'd been split, Dark and light, her Yami would have been one crazy Sonofabitch.

She fell upon him, not bothering to be dainty, not when she had to act so fast. The twin marks weren't enough, so she tore with her sharp incisors as well. Blood sprayed, before she clamped upon it and took his life with a long gulp that would have impressed even college frat boys. She dropped him, his body landing on the carped with a dull, resounding thud.

"I do like your style. Very direct. Everyone, look at the shiny." Marik leaned on the doorframe, Millennium rod in hand. The change hadn't cured his darkness, it enhanced it. He was prone to switching back and forth frequently, and right now, he was ready to tear some heads off.

A very few individuals adopted a glazed look. He spoke, and they followed his words in time, creating a chanting effect. "Charlotte? You see the talking ones? They'll cover for us. Life, like duels, requires power and strategy. For the rest… I thirst"

The crowd scattered as the two monsters descended upon them. Marik cornered the two children in an upstairs hall. A woman threw herself between him and his prey, crying, wet puddles and snot on her face.

"No, spare them, spare the children. Kill me, but spare them, they don't know anything, they can't do anything, please, have mercy…"

With one arm he pushed her aside, smashing her into the wall with a sickening crack. The plaster split, and so did her skull. Sopping splatters of brain matter plopped to the floor. He stepped over her legs, and dropped to one knee before the small ones. A little blonde boy crouched in a corned, sobbing hysterically, but the older, dark haired child just looked at Marik, his face blank with shock. His tearstained eyes cried no more.

He looked steadily at the blood soaked horror before him, with distended eyes, hair that practically crackled with power sticking every witch way, Kohl outlining features with stark effect. His expression didn't change when Marik grabbed his shoulder, then his head, right over his ear. It still stayed the same as Marik wrenched the head from the body in one swift motion, letting the draining blood flow into his open mouth as he laughed and laughed, and the little one cried and cried. Marik took what blood he could from the wounds he'd made, then he broke open the chest cavity for the heart. He tore out the organ, and squeezed from it what it had to give.

He brandished the bloody, golden rod before the second child. "Look at me, look at the power I've stumbled across. Look at how very, very far I've COME!" He shouted his announcement, and the child's eyes settled on the Rod. Slowly, gratefully, the little boy let the fear and the pain and the horror slip away. He just wanted someone… to tell him… just tell him what to do.

* * *

Marik found Charlotte finishing up in one of the libraries. She could drink no more, and had settled for languidly snapping necks. She was glutted and satisfied, though how long that would last was an open question. Their skin was flushed, like someone who'd been running in cold weather. In the midst of a blood bath, they looked human.

"Bakura's not going to be happy." Malik observed, wiping his hand across his mouth half-heartedly.

"I got what he wanted." Charlotte shrugged, tapping the eye. "More than you can say, since you're back."

"Where did you get that?" Malik demanded, dumbfounded. He hadn't really been himself all night. He remembered his plane landing.

"Long story. We'll fill you in in the Tomb." Charlotte started to walk away.

"I'm not sleeping in a Tomb. I refuse. I'm not doing it." Marik frowned, looking at the red and gold rod.

"You grew up in one? Doesn't matter, its safer and you know it."

"Don't care. I'll be fine here. My new friends will keep their eyes open during the day." Marik gestured to the five mind slaves, including a small boy.

"You two should come here." Marik laughed, retreating further into the house, stepping over the occasional dismembered corpse as he went.

Charlotte sighed. Bakura would not be pleased. This place was simply begging for discovery.

* * *

Well, you were warned. Don't worry, eventually the plot will shift back to the less villainous members of our collective interest. I was very tiered while I wrote some of this, so sorry for any typos. Erm, yeah, Charlotte may be a bit nuts, but Marik is, well, he was the only one in the show who tried to do more than "send someone to the shadow realm". He had this stabbing thing…. And he was a lunatic. And both light and dark halves were evil! Come on!

Ok, I'm done. Melvin's been put away now.


End file.
